


W is for Waiter

by coolbyrne



Series: The Alphabet Series [23]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: When Gibbs is forced to go undercover, he finds he's not the only one chasing down the same target. pre-Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: The Alphabet Series [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909126
Comments: 30
Kudos: 85





	W is for Waiter

**Author's Note:**

> A sommelier does so much more, so I hope you'll excuse the creative licence!

"Boss, we have a problem."

Gibbs strode into the bullpen, eyes already on the large monitor, ready to go over last minute details of the undercover operation to be set in motion that evening. Everything appeared to be in place except-

"Where's Torres?"

McGee's mouth turned down. "Uh, that's the problem. He called me this morning and told me he wasn't feeling well. We figured we'd give it the day to see what happened. It got worse. They think he might have to get his tonsils taken out."

Bishop snorted, catching Gibbs' attention. "Sorry. I just, I mean, I had mine taken out when I was 9."

He was ready to rip out more than Torres' tonsils. The undercover operation had taken 5 weeks to prepare, from tracking down the stolen data to finding out the restaurant they suspected the exchange with a foreign contact would take place. It took Torres 3 days alone to memorize the wine list. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.

"I hope you have a tux, Boss." When his eyes shot a glare at McGee, the agent sheepishly shrugged. "There's no one else. I'd do it but you'd have to be in the truck. With the computers."

Gibbs grimaced, recognizing the truth for what it was. But it didn't mean he had to agree with it. "I'm not playin' a waiter."

"Sommelier," Bishop corrected. When the two men gave her wildly different reactions, she held out her hands. "What? I'm just saying."

"I know what you're thinking," McGee said. "But we'll just improvise. The maitre d' knows what we're doing and already agreed to help Torres. You've got 2 hours to look over the wine list; memorize a few, but you'll have an earpiece in and I can help you with the rest."

Gibbs looked up to the heavens and exhaled sharply. Caught between a rock and a hard place, he knew it was useless to try and wiggle free. "You two go over the details." 

When he started for the elevator, Bishop asked, "Where are you going?"

"To get my damn tux."

…..

Bishop fiddled with the bowtie longer than necessary, and he clenched his jaw at her attention.

"I'm not going to apologize," she said, chin raised in defiance. "I've never seen you in a tuxedo before- you're really handsome." He tilted his head to the side, his expression blank. "I'm not apologizing for that, either. Deal with it." 

Saving her from his simmering impatience- or maybe saving him from her adoration- Tim coughed.

"I've spoken with Phillipe Cordeaux, the maitre d' at the restaurant. He knows it's going to be you instead of Torres, so he'll be prepared to help. He called in his actual sommelier to give you a hand. Joseph Simone. I checked him out- he's clean. Phillipe seemed happy to hear it was you, so that's a plus."

While Gibbs raised an eyebrow at McGee's backhanded compliment, Bishop raised one of her own. 

"If he was happy before, he's going to be over the moon now."

Tim winced at her fearlessness.

…..

He left them in the van a block down from the restaurant, touching his earpiece one last time before entering the building through the back. The kitchen was busy but not frantic, a crew of sous chefs preparing for the evening reservations. The maitre d' caught Gibbs' attention and gestured to a quiet corner. Another suit started in the same direction.

"Special Agent Gibbs," Phillipe greeted with a warm smile. "You certainly do look the part." He tilted his head. "This is Joseph Dockley, our sommelier."

Gibbs nodded. "Agent McGee told me. I appreciate it." 

"Did you have a chance to look at the wine list?"

"Yeah. Memorized about 10. Recognized a few 2 of my ex-wives liked. Figured that'll help."

Joseph chuckled. "'Two of'? Man after my own heart. Three times myself."

They shared a laugh and Phillipe just shook his head. "Horrible. Both of you." Rounding the conversation back to the details, he said, "If all else fails, recommend the house wine. It's popular enough to do the trick."

"I'll start preparing for service," Joseph said. "You run into any trouble, just give me a nod."

"Thanks."

Guiding Gibbs into the dining room, Phillipe held out his hand towards a group of tables. "I gave you the lightest number of table tops. Stick with those two in the corner and the two by the window; Joseph will handle the other eight. I've gone through the reservations- the first window table is for Mr. and Mrs. DeLonge. They're celebrating their first anniversary. He's quite excited and will likely take anything you offer." Gibbs grinned at the image. "The second window table is for a Ms. Jacqueline Sloane. She's been in 3 times over the last several months. Always comes in with the same male guest, always orders the steak. The two men of interest will be sitting in the far corner there. They insist on ordering the Coche Dury with the Beef Wellington." He pointed to the slightly out of the way table while wrinkling his nose. "I'm assuming you know they've been in twice in the last month."

Gibbs nodded. "It's how we found the place."

Phillipe mirrored the nod. "And the last table will be 4 friends of mine. I thought it might take some of the pressure off."

"I know it's short notice, me steppin' in. Thanks."

Gibbs watched the man's eyes flick down and back up again in one of the most discreet moves he'd ever seen, and he was beginning to appreciate what made him a good maitre d'. 

"The pleasure is all mine, believe me."

In his ear, he heard Bishop's victorious, "Told you!"

…..

Joseph gave him a crash course in sommelier etiquette before the first reservation arrived. Gibbs was able to stand back and watch the ebb and flow of service enough that when his own first table came in, he figured he had seen enough to fake it. It didn't surprise him when Bishop read his mind.

"Hope you can fake it, Gibbs."

The first guests were the young newlyweds and Gibbs was happy to start easy. He watched the server take their order and bring it back to the kitchen window where he quickly glanced at the information before starting towards the table. The tuxedo suddenly felt wrong and the tie too tight, but there was no going back now. He wasn't into role-play, but he could charm better than most; every wife had said so. With a small grin, he approached the couple, easy and amiable.

"Can I interest you in a drink?" he asked.

The scrubbed face 20-something male looked up, obviously out of his element, but clearly trying to impress his equally inexperienced wife. 

"It's our first anniversary," he beamed. "What would you recommend?"

From the server's slip, Gibbs knew what they were having, so he said, "You can't go wrong with the Conterno Fantino."

The young husband frowned. "I thought you weren't supposed to have red wine with fish?"

Gibbs waved it off with a light head shake. "That hasn't been true since _my_ first anniversary." When he looked down at the wine list, Gibbs anticipated the response. "Don't look at the price. Everyone wants to go with the most expensive bottle, but you don't gotta spend a lot of money to have class." 

This seemed to please both guests, because the husband said, "We'll take it."

"Good choice. Be back in a minute."

On his way to the bar, he heard McGee say, "You're doing great, Boss."

"You must be the most laid back wine guy in the city," Bishop remarked, her humour evident in her voice.

He brought the glasses, the bottle and the corkscrew back to the table just as his second table arrived, and he tried not to do a double-take when the woman came in. Considering the looks she was getting from others in the restaurant, he was glad he could get away with one of his own. Blonde, average height helped by the three inch black heels that complemented the dress of the same colour. He knew every woman had a 'little black dress' in their closet, but he was pretty sure few had _that_ dress. A knee-length number that showed off incredible legs and toned arms but covered everything else while somehow still offering a peek at the entire package. Her jewelry was understated, the light catching small diamond clusters in her ears and a ruby red brooch right where the valley between her breasts would start if the dress hadn't been such a tease. Her hair was down and her smile was up as she was guided to her table by Phillipe. 

Mindful of his own job, Gibbs turned his attention to the newlyweds and deftly presented the bottle before opening it. His big hands twisted the cork out with ease, and he offered a sample that was given a murmur of approval before he poured two glasses.

"Food should be comin' right up," he told them. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll come back and check up on you later."

He turned just in time to see the server make eye contact with him, give a discreet tilt towards the new arrival, and shake his head.

…..

She plastered a smile on her face, but inside, she was seething. Three days before one of the biggest catches of their careers, her partner gets roped into going to Vegas for a bachelor weekend. The day of the sting- _the day his ass was supposed to be on a flight back to Washington_ \- he's refused boarding because the bastard's too drunk to get on it. He was expected to arrive later that night, but if he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't get off the plane. 

Her bosses debated sending in another agent with her, but she had already made a pattern of showing up with Dave, and there was concern that a new dinner partner might draw the wrong attention. As it was, even the server made a small mention of the absence across the table, and she brushed it off as a late arrival. She was hoping everything went off before her lack of company drew too much attention. 

A different kind of attention came her way in the form of a tall drink of water in a tuxedo. 

"I'm your sommelier tonight," he started, saying the word in a way she hadn't expected the rough around the edges looking man to pronounce. "Can I get you started on somethin' while you wait?"

His voice was nearly a drawl and the combination of a cowboy in a tuxedo made her smile -really smile- for the first time that day. It didn't hurt that his eyes caught the light in a way that created a kaleidoscope of blue.

"It's been a hell of a day," she said. "What do you recommend?"

He tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Lemme come up with somethin'. Be right back."

She watched him walk away, finding a small measure of calm before the upcoming storm.

…..

He could feel her eyes on him and inexplicably felt like he had something to prove. Or maybe it was just someone to impress. Bypassing the wine selection, he found exactly what he was looking for.

…..

He strolled back to her table, amber in one hand, water in the other, and she watched him the entire way. The drink matched flecks in her eyes and he waited for them to lower, giving him permission to put down the glasses.

"That's not wine," she said.

The surprise in her voice made him smirk. "Nope. Didn't bring ice, but you might want the water. You can use the stick to-"

"Dilute the whiskey by drops," she finished, tapping the glass stick in the water. 

"You know whiskey."

She snorted. "Not sure how much I know _about_ it, but I definitely know how to _drink_ it." She brought up the glass to her lips, and he could see the exact moment the aroma hit her. "Chocolate and toffee? You're not serving me the Dalmore."

He grinned with pride at her knowledge. "I am."

"This is $300 a bottle."

He shrugged. "Lucky for you, it's on the house." He ignored McGee's groaned, "The Director's going to lose it." 

Her smile was as warm as the whiskey. "This is perfect. I wish I could share it with you."

"Some other time."

McGee's voice was replaced by Bishop's whisper. "Is he... flirting?"

Unbeknownst to anyone other than Jack, he wasn't the only one getting stick from a team member. She tried not to react when a male voice teased, "Sloanie, are you flirting?"

There was some movement at the newlyweds' table that caught his attention. The young woman stood, and he quickly slid to her side, pulling out the chair to make room. She blushed at the attention, stammered a bashful, "Thank you," and needlessly gestured towards the bathroom on the far side of the room. He nodded, then returned the chair to its place when she left. 

The husband coughed and cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, and when Gibbs encouraged him to go on with a lift of his chin, he cleared his throat again. "You're married, right?" He didn't wait for Gibbs to confirm or deny. "How do I make it last? I mean, things are great, don't get me wrong. She is _amazing_. But sometimes I wonder, what's she doing with me? And what if things are only great because it's our first year and that's kind of expected?"

Gibbs took pity on the young man even if he wanted to laugh at the thought of being someone to give good marriage advice. "I'll tell ya what my dad told me- treat her like she's the sun and the moon. She's the star in your sky; don't let her forget it. Hold the door and the chair for her. Don't go to bed without tellin' her you love her, even if you've been fighting. And when you say it, mean it. It's not just a word, it's a commitment." While he never forgot the words, he failed to heed them, three times. He figured the kid didn't need to hear that part.

"That's so sweet," Bishop melted.

"And when she comes into a room, make sure you tell her how great she looks. If you say it first, she can't ask you if her ass looks fat in those jeans."

"And there it is," Bishop groaned.

A group of four came in and were guided to their table by Phillipe, allowing enough distraction for Jack to be able to hide her amusement at the conversation from the table beside her. When Gibbs saw the four going to a table near the wall, he made sure to top up the couple's wine glasses and discreetly exited while the young man's mouth was still agape. He glanced at Jack on the way to the new guests and the barely concealed smirk told him everything he needed to know about what she might have overheard. He gave her a stern stare that did nothing to diminish her silent commentary.

…..

It had been a long time since she felt the pull of eyes that blue and charm that smooth and she would've groaned at the sad state of her life had she not remembered the audience in her ear and in a truck a block away. She watched him approach the 4 men and grinned at their obvious flirtations. He seemed to take it in good natured stride, giving one of the men the same cocky smirk he'd given her. 

_Oh, Jacqueline. He's unavailable and you have a job to do._

She allowed herself a small sigh, then downed her whiskey.

…..

"You married?"

Gibbs smirked at the blatant come-on by the dark-haired guy. "Nope."

"Fantastic! You want to be?"

"Jake, leave the poor guy alone. Besides, he's a federal agent," the man who identified himself as 'Matthew' whispered. "We're here to help him out, not pick him up."

It didn't deter Jake one iota. "Do federal agents have handcuffs?"

"I'll be right back with your drinks."

"That wasn't a 'no'!" 

Gibbs admired the gall even if he didn't respond, though Bishop didn't have the same need for silence. 

"He's going to get more phone numbers than I do at the DC9 on Saturday nights!"

…..

He volleyed back more good-natured flirtations by the 4 men before finding his way back to Jack's table. Another whiskey emerged, and he deftly switched it for the empty glass.

"I'm not sure I should have another," she said, looking up somewhat forlornly. She knew one drink should be her limit, considering the importance of the mission, even if it was damn good whiskey. 

"If I may be so bold-" His lips twitched and his eyebrows arched at his formality.

"You may."

"You married?"

She blinked. When he suggested he might be bold, she hadn't expected that. "No."

He tilted his head back and forth. "Good. Then you won't mind me sayin' you could do better."

The pink felt hot on her cheeks.

"Imagine that," the voice in her earpiece said. "He doesn't even know Dave and yet, his douchebaggery proceeds him."

"That's sweet of you to say," she said, regaining some of her composure. "Fortunately, that position is currently unfulfilled. Or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it. He's a business associate I've been trying to convince to commit to a real estate deal for the past 2 months."

He nodded. "That's why you've been in here 3 times already."

Her brow furrowed. "How did you know that?"

"My job to know these things." He gave in to her eyebrow. "Phillipe told me." They shared a smile. "Doesn't change the fact he shouldn't keep you waitin'."

His obvious offense was endearing in its own way. "I bet you're promptly on military time with your wife."

Subconsciously, he lifted his hand to the bristle at the back of his head. "I am. When the position's filled."

His play on her words was just sly enough to make her burst out laughing even as her brain filed away the information. A movement by the door caught his attention.

"My last table." Nodding to the whiskey, he said, "It'd be a waste not to drink it.

"Cresswell's entered the restaurant. You see that, Sloanie?"

To both the question in her ear and the man standing beside her, she lifted the glass and said, "Yep."

…..

The voice in _his_ ear didn't bother stating the obvious and instead said, "We're running a facial recognition Cresswell's partner." Gibbs casually moved to the bar under the guise of waiting for the table to be served. "Mikel Stefka. Wanted by every alphabet agency on 3 continents. Low level goods mover. Courier to anyone who pays the right price."

"Um, Gibbs?" He answered Bishop's question with a low hum, and she said, "So I was checking on Jacqueline Sloane, you know, just to see what she was like, because you two seem to be hitting it off and I just wanted to make sure-"

He risked being caught by barking a quiet, " _Bishop_."

"Um, she's a Fed."

He willed his face to remain impassive even as his brain began working a mile a minute. "What?"

"FBI, Boss." Knowing what was expected of him, McGee added, "I'm running a frequency check in a 2-block radius. If we're here, they're definitely around here."

He took a deep breath, then saw the server hand off the table with a subtle look. He'd give the woman credit- she hadn't blinked when Cresswell walked past. Reshuffling his priorities, he started for the new guests.

…..

"Where's the other sommelier?" The man he now knew as Mikel Stefka looked up with a stare that would have intimidated most men. 

Gibbs met the tactic with a bored, "Busy night."

Cresswell was clearly the extrovert of the two. "Aren't you a little old to be a sommelier?" It was said with a gregariousness that was in complete contrast to his dinner partner. Gibbs tried to keep his face neutral when the image of the lifeless corporal Cresswell left in a pool of blood flashed across his memory.

"Second job," he said. "Tight economy."

"What's your first job?"

"Government."

The answer got him a sympathetic nod. "I hear ya, my man. Shit pay, even shittier job."

Never one for small talk even at the best of times, Gibbs said, "I've been told you prefer the Meursault Coche-Dury."

Cresswell was impressed. "Not bad."

"Two glasses?"

"My friend here doesn't drink, but bring two anyway. That way, I don't feel like I'm drinking alone."

"Be right back."

As he walked away, McGee gave him the news. "There's a van at the opposite end of the street. They're talking about grabbing Cresswell when he leaves the restaurant. They've got a team in the alley in case Stefka heads out the back."

Finding a corner in the kitchen, Gibbs spoke quietly. "Let them grab them. We want the stick. We get that, we get them all." 

"Boss, Cresswell's on the move. Feds' are already on his tail."

Gibbs stepped back into the dining area, his eyes immediately going to the table in the corner. Sure enough, only Stefka remained. Stefka and a tumbler of brandy. He watched as the man downed the drink, placed the glass on the table and stood. 

"Stefka's headin' for the door," Gibbs said, his mouth barely moving. He almost smiled when he caught Sloane doing the same under the guise of sipping her drink.

"The alley team came around and pounced already," McGee said. Before the curse could leave Gibbs' mouth, McGee added, "Boss? They do _not_ look happy. I don't think he has the stick."

Gibbs' eyes went from the agent to the table to the drink. "McGee, come through the back. It's Joseph Dockley." He caught the man at the bar, drying a wine glass. He'd hand it to the guy- he looked remarkably at ease, considering he had stolen government information in his pocket that was worth millions.

"Can't be," Tim said. "We vetted everyone there." When no reply came, he said, "On my way."

Gibbs was already making his way to the bar.

…..

"He doesn't have it, Sloanie."

She forced herself to not immediately look at the vacant table. Casually, she took a drink and glanced around. "Shit."

"Did you see the hand-off?"

"No. But I assumed it happened since they both left." She replayed the events in her head. Cresswell first. Then Stefka. She took another look at the table and swore again. "It's the sommelier."

"The one that's been hitting on you?"

"No," she bit back, "the other one." Like a magnet, she found the cowboy in the tuxedo and watched him follow the other sommelier into the back. She sprang to her feet and followed.

…..

The fight was a short-lived one, ending with Gibbs' knee in the middle of Joseph Dockley's back. It took a quick search to find the USB, and he was just pocketing it when Agent Sloane burst into the kitchen, gun drawn. The chefs barely reacted.

"I'll take it from here," she said to him.

It was the first time he realized while he knew who she was, the information hadn't been reciprocated. Flipping out his badge from his tuxedo jacket, he rectified the oversight, much to her obvious chagrin.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS."

Her hands lowered and her shoulders slumped. "Are you kidding me?"

His eyes went from her face down to her heels and back up again. "The real question is, where were you hiding _that_ , Agent Sloane?" His chin pointed up towards the gun.

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny. How long did you know?"

There was a soft accusation in her voice that he wanted to dispel, and he wondered why he cared that she didn't think he was bullshitting her the entire time. 

"My team decided to vet you. Must've been the second whiskey."

His eyes sparkled at the connotation behind his team wanting to know more about her, and she seemed to come to the same conclusion because she didn't bother to hide her smirk.

"Must have been." She glanced at the man on the floor. "He have the stick?"

"Yep."

"You know you're going to have to hand it over." It was said almost apologetically. He only held her gaze and she titled her head. "Come on, Agent Gibbs. Letters above us are going to swoop in and take the credit. We both know that."

"Not about the credit." How could he explain it was more about justice for Corporal Ormiston?

Somehow, she knew.

"I know. It's about Kyle Ormiston. You know the federal prosecutor's going to give Cresswell a deal to turn on these guys" They ignored the protest from the man still under Gibbs' knee. "When he pleads down from espionage to whatever, I'll see to it personally they bump the file back to you, okay? You have my word."

Her eyes never wavered, her expression open and honest, and he trusted her immediately. 

Tim's entrance interrupted the moment. He came in with gun drawn but in a safety position. His eyes went from Gibbs to Sloane to the man on the floor then back to Gibbs. 

"Everything okay?"

Shifting from personal to professional in a heartbeat, he asked, "Where's her backup?" His question was curt and annoyed at the discovery no one had yet to come in to cover her.

"Still shaking down Stefka," Tim replied, knowing the oversight angered him. He politely nodded at the woman he had only heard up to that point. "Agent Sloane." To Gibbs, he asked, "He has the stick?"

Gibbs held it up. "Nope. She does." To the surprise of both McGee and Sloane, he handed over the device.

"Boss?"

He shrugged. "They're gonna force us to hand it over anyway. Figured havin' the Feds owe us one might not be such a bad thing."

"Ooh, looks like you're getting a position filled, Sloanie!" a voice chirped in her ear. "I mean, by the sounds of it, he'll only be able to manage the missionary, but hey! Beggars can't-"

"Asshole." She yanked out the earpiece. Seeing McGee's startled expression and Gibbs' arched eyebrow, she quickly corrected, "Not you." She held up the piece.

Gibbs grinned and responded to the promise and the correction in one sentence. "I'll hold you to that."

…..

EPILOGUE

He had just settled into the couch, dishes done and the Friday night ballgame on when his doorbell rang. The formality of the sound put an expression on his face meant to scare away the only people who ever used the bell. But when he yanked the door open, his prepared growl stopped halfway up his throat and his hard stare was halted. 

She somehow looked even better in a pair of jeans and leather jacket than she did in the dress he saw her in a month ago. Giving him the same once over he had just given her, she was more vocal in her assessment. 

"Whatever the casual version of 'you clean up nice' is, you do. Very nice." Her eyes took in his jeans and hoodie.

"Agent Sloane," he said.

"Oh, 'Jack' is fine, Agent Gibbs."

"'Gibbs' is fine," he deadpanned.

Her small pout hit him right in the groin. "Here I was hoping I'd get to start with 'Jethro' and work my way up to 'Leroy'. Maybe this will help?" She produced a whiskey bottle from behind her back.

He recognized the label as the one he'd served her at the restaurant. Unable to hold back a grin, he said, "Maybe. Why don't you come in and find out?" He stepped back and swung the door open. Without waiting for her to follow, he started back inside and went right for the kitchen. 

She slowly stepped in, gauging her surroundings, humming a murmur of interest. 

"Nice TV," she remarked. "Very retro."

"Is that what they're callin' me these days?"

She laughed and the walls soaked it up like a parched man. 

She dropped onto the couch and sighed in contentment. "I imagine they call you a lot of things. Jethro."

He looked over his shoulder as he opened a cupboard. Her expression was devastatingly innocent. Ambling back to the couch with 2 glasses and the bottle, he set all 3 on the table before taking up a place beside her. The seal on the whiskey cracked and he poured the amber into the glasses.

"Director tell you where I live?"

"Please, I'm with the Feds. You don't think I could find you on my own?" He handed her a drink with a chuckle. She savoured the aroma before admitting, "Actually, I was there at lunch today but you had stepped out. Your Agent Bishop gave me the address. After a thorough and proper interrogation." 

His chuckle grew into a laugh even as he made a note to have a talk with her about keeping secrets. She had done a good job at keeping Jack's visit and subsequent grilling under wraps.

"Not sure why she was asking," Jack went on, "considering I'm preeetty sure that 3-inch file on her desk was mine."

"Only 3 inches?"

She caught his teasing and volleyed it back. "Why, how big is yours? Don't say it! I can't believe I just said that."

Her willingness to poke fun at herself only added more colour to the room. He rested his head against the back of the couch, enjoying the company. Rolling his head to the side, he said, "Joseph Dockley had a twin brother."

"So I heard. The real sommelier."

"Yep. Found him tied up in his bathroom. S'why his name didn't raise any flags when we did the background check." His eyes went up to the ceiling. "Told Kyle Orminston's parents charges were brought against his killer today."

"That's where you were at lunch." He hummed and she said, "Sorry it took so long to get him to you- too many cooks in the kitchen."

He knew as well as anyone the amount of paperwork required for a bureaucrat just to wipe his ass. "S'okay. You got him to me. That's all that matters."

"I gave you my word."

"You did." He gave just the right amount of pause and turned his attention back to her. "Still owe me a favour, though."

There was just enough suggestion in his voice for her to raise an eyebrow and lift her glass. "You looking to collect?"

Though there was play in her question, he suspected she was more than serious when it came to keeping her promise. There had been something about her in that restaurant that he'd found instantly attractive, and he knew now it was more than the dress. Her eyes and her smile all held an opportunity he hadn't been given in ages.

Weighing his options and going with his gut, he asked, "You got a gear bag in your car?"

If the question seemed out of left field, she answered it anyway. "Of course." Then the meaning behind it dawned on her. Lifting her chin and lowering her eyes, she said, "Not sure why I'll need it- I'll be wearing that hoodie in the morning. _Leroy_." Her teasing brought a smile to his face, her confidence, a heat. Just as he was about to parry a retort, she added, "Even if it _is_ the Marine Corps."

He cursed himself for giving her the reaction she wanted, based on her wink. But she _did_ end up wearing the hoodie the next morning. And the rest of the weekend. Along with 2 of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers.

…..

-end


End file.
